you know something I don’t?”
“Of course not, but she’s old. Old people lose steam, that’s all. She should be somewhere she can take it easy instead of working like she does.”
“Put her out to pasture, you mean?” For some reason, the idea of Joe suggesting that Auntie Lou’s “steam” was dwindling upset me.
“Hardly that. But I worry about her sometimes.”
“She is a little frail,” Nick added, trying to bridge the gap that had broken open between Joe and me, “but she’s got lots of spirit.”
“I think it’s great that both of you are concerned, as I am, but Auntie Lou isn’t finished yet.” I pushed away from the table. “I have to get back to work or I won’t get my order in on time. Nick, thanks for the coffee.”
He started to rise, but I waved him back into his chair. Such a gentleman.
Joe cleared his throat. “Don’t forget about my niece’s violin recital on Friday.”
I crossed my eyes at him. “If it’s as bad as last time, I’m bringing earplugs.”
“My sister says she’s improved a little.”
“Only ‘a little’? Joe, I suffered hearing loss at her last recital. I’d rather listen to a bagful of cats fight than Mozart’s Adagio in E major played by a nine year old.”
He shrugged helplessly. “My sister is expecting you.”
“Only for Maria, then.” I grinned and turned my back on them, reminding myself to stop at a drugstore to buy myself some cotton balls to plug my ears. I left the two of them together to find something to talk about.
The recital was even worse than I imagined it could be. Joe’s niece blistered out a classical piece that no doubt had its composer turning over in his grave, if not trying to claw his way out to rip the violin from the child’s hands. And she was one of the better ones. Even Joe’s comforting arm around my shoulders didn’t help. Throughout it all, the music teacher sat with a blissful smile on her face, nodding and looking proud.
“Is that woman attached to reality at all?” I whispered to Joe after the wailings and screeches were done. “If I had to listen to those shrieking sounds all day, I’d be deaf as a post.”
I moved a little closer to the buffet table where the prodigies’ mothers were serving pieces from a cake shaped like a violin. Accidentally, I bumped into a tall woman who hovered over the cake plates. “Excuse me, I didn’t mean…” She turned toward me. It was the guilty party. The one who’d taught all those innocent children to play like coyotes howling at the moon, like tires squealing on wet pavement, like turkeys having their tail feathers plucked…. There should be a law against what this woman does to music.
She smiled at me with that serene, unearthly smile. As she did so, I noticed a tiny earplug protruding out of one ear. She didn’t answer but gestured me to move forward through the line. No fair! Couldn’t she be penalized for using illegal equipment? Surely wearing earplugs was frowned on by a Teachers of Musical Instruments Association or something. There’s got to be an organization to prevent cruelty to parents.
“I’ll buy you dessert to make up for this,” Joe said later. At least I think that’s what he said. I’m new at lip reading, having had to start it only this evening, after the concert.
“Bribery won’t work. You owe me more than a crummy piece of pie for loss of hearing. Don’t ever do that to me again, Joe. Never invite me to anything where your family plays, sings, acts or orates. Promise?”
Joe smiled and took my hand in his. A dark curl fell onto his forehead and his eyes were mysteriously shadowed by the light of the streetlamp. “‘Love me, love my family.’ Isn’t that what you say?”
“I say ‘Love me, love my dog,’ Joe. And Bentley doesn’t play a violin.”
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